


I can't set him free (You can go and set him free!) from  me

by deakyluvvie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Angels, Curses, Demons, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dragons, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Magic, Mention of blood, Platonic Relationships, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vampires, Werewolves, non-graphic he's just a vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24491953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deakyluvvie/pseuds/deakyluvvie
Summary: Donghyuck can proudly say that he hasn't ran into any consequences of his craft!...at least, not yet anywayORIt's 1982, and the bustling market streets are filled with humans and magic alike. But everything begins to take a turn for the worst once old tensions between the two worlds begin to flare up, all while a very valuable mirror is cursed...
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Kudos: 5





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from "In The Lap Of The Gods" by Queen!
> 
> I've never written anything like this before, so any advice or ideas would be greatly appreciated!!  
> if you have any questions about the au or myself my twitter is @deakyluvvie !!!  
> (ps blame @luvhy0ckie on twt for this Godawful creation)

“this is happening way too often”

groggily waking up with the sheen of a cold sweat, donghyuck struggles to lift his head, only to be faced with the two bright red horns protruding from his best friend’s forehead. “One of these days, you’re gonna poke my eye out”

renjun stares more intensely now, “that sounds like a **_you_** problem”

“oh, don’t be an ass, renjunnie” weakly pushing himself even further back into the gross but albeit comfortable confines of his pillow mountain, _bliss._ Until the thumping enveloping his head returns, growing stronger. a pulse begins to ripple, from front to back. donghyuck squeezes his arms around the upper pillow as tight as his tired body will let him, wrapping it over his head; he tries to escape.

it’s grip is strong, so strong donghyuck doesn’t know if he’ll make it to the cramped apartment’s toilet in time, fleeting doubts that his crimson coloured friend would be less than pleased if a speck of gunk lands it’s way on his pure white pull-over.

 _pure white_ he thought. _h_ _ow ironic_

“Hyuck, stop” _hYuCk, StOp_ “This is the third night that this has happened; something’s wrong and you know it”

_i know_

but even still, he doesn’t stop.

magic comes at a price, it’s common knowledge, even the humans know.

_they know too much_

but fairy magic, real fairy magic; it’s the kind that doesn’t even require a conscious thought, the kind that comes as naturally as breathing and bears no burden.

no harm comes with a fairy’s natural magic. and as a titanian fae, with the ability to manipulate light, to create mesmerising songs and to have the most beautiful translucent wings, the general public’s admiration and curiosity towards such features is to be expected.

_but not always desired_

and therefore, lee donghyuck, a self-proclaimed unseelie fae, has taken it upon himself to learn the ways of a _darker_ magic. But _illegal witchcraft_ , although powerful, is indeed very… tricky

“to be honest, I’m just surprised you haven’t ran into any victims of your shenanigans”, renjun teases before pulling a pillow from under donghyuck’s nifty little stack, causing the fae to groan, both from pain and the reminder that so far all donghyuck’s attempts at even the most basic of spells has progressed no further than accidentally removing the grooves from his “Off the Wall” record.

when he went back to the vinyl stall to swap it for a playable LP, donghyuck was met with a visibly bewildered Lee Jeno at the front table.

**“I-I don’t understand…how- “**

**“Oh? You didn’t know? this happens all the time, Jen”**

**“But surely- “**

**“alllll the time~”**

_thank God he’s human, and a naïve one at that_

“please, junnie, don’t make me laugh”, sarcasm drips from the fae’s mouth as the devilish boy saunters across the apartment to grab a handful of blueberries from a bowl sat on an outdated counter-top.

renjun twists around to look at donghyuck with a contemplating stare before fleeting his dark eyes to the off-centre clock above where Donghyuck is lying in bed, but not before throwing the firmest blueberry in his palm at the blanket covered mound. “I’m not kidding, you twerp. You’ve probably done some laughable damage to some human’s haircut”

further ignoring exclaims of discomfort as the sharp tongued boy continues his attack of blueberries, only pausing to hastily look up at the clock again, “and unless you want to live off blueberries for the rest of your life, I suggest shifting your ass out of that bed and putting on some decent clothes that don’t smell like your parents never potty trained you-“

renjun's verbal attacks are soon met with an exasperated gasp from beneath the heap of blankets and in seconds donghyuck’s arms fly up from under the duvet and pillows, knocking a small mirror stand on his way, not paying attention to the returning pressure on his head or any blueberries he stands on as he haphazardly snatches his clothes from the day before, continuing to stomp his way to the bathroom.

with a light exhale of a laugh, the red boy grabs his pale satchel bag, making way to the locked bathroom door, renjun asks in quieter tone than before “you’ll still mask me, right?”

hopping and shuffling is heard from behind the door before the half-dressed fae peers through the creak in the door, translucent wings creating a tent in his misshapen shirt, obviously not having time to push them through the fabric's cut-outs.

“…if that’s what you want”

“please”

renjun almost forgetting himself before adding, “and please get a move on” grinning with intent as he exclaims, “it’s already 11:45 and we’ve got a stall to run, clothes to sell and human’s to annoy!”


	2. Action This Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “humans are so stupid, renjunnie, I’m thinking of starting a rebellion”
> 
> “you are not starting a rebellion against the humans”

“doNGHYUCK!”

“HUANG RENJUN, I SWEAR TO GOD IF I WALK THROUGH AND SEE ANOTHER SCARF IMPALED BY YOUR SATAN TAIL I- “

“SHUT UP AND COME LOOK!!”

donghyuck kicks himself out of his stool, translucent wings quavering as he trips himself up on the wire hanger melded into the ground; he makes his way further into the back of the stall, passing splinting shelves of piled fabric and gnarled and rusted ornaments twisting to hold glimmering trinkets of all shapes and sizes.

batting his arm violently against the grizzled sweaters dangling from the rusted frame above, receiving a yelp from the other side.

see, the draped garments act as a division to the cozy (see: cramped) space in the back, the heavy fabric leaving the space shrouded in darkness save for the bold streams of light pouring in from the middle parting, where none other than huang renjun, up from his usual cushion and receipts, appears to be headless; back facing Donghyuck with his head hoking out through the other side of the curtain wall.

pulling his head back behind the crushed velvet curtain, charcoal hair sticking out in all directions with static, renjun pulls donghyuck into the narrow space.

“look”, and his head is pushed through the where renjun’s was a few moments ago, his bare face no longer protected by the shade, fully exposed to the blaring heat of the sun.

“what am I lookin- “

“mayday records”, renjun interrupts through the other side of the purple curtain.

a playful pull tugs on the fairy’s lips, _oh renjunnie_

“did you seriously call me back here to tell me how you’ve been ogling jeno all da- “

the curtain is flung open by the flustered demon, “NO!”

with the loud exclaim drawing more attention than first hoped for, he hastily grips on the dark fabric that had been thrown moments ago, gathering it under his chin, shrugging his right arm between the fae and himself to give a tight point across the market.

“ _ **him**_ ”

him? donghyuck’s confused at first, but it doesn’t take long for his seeking eyes to figure out who “him” is.

blue. very _**very**_ blue.

there, across the way behind their own stall, stands a young man. he looks no older than both staring supernaturals, dressed in an odd mix of worn out leather and tattered tartan from head to toe, pins of unknown bands on lapels, patches haphazardly sewn to his back and a noticeable tear above his right knee, _punks not dead… yet_ , and the brightest bluest hair that donghyuck has ever seen.

their eyes follow the man as he trips his way into “mayday”, the record stall following a diagonal opposite their own.

the constant clamour of light leaves an ache as the fae’s eyes remain squinted, catching himself in a haze as renjun speaks up again with an attention seeking tease in his tone,

“see…I told you, I knew you’d have done something to an innocent human’s scalp”, earning a loud whack from behind the curtain

* * *

_it’s too bright out_

_and way too fucking hot… should probably ditch the jacket next time_

_speaking of hot-_

“…so, are you gonna pay for the singles or what?”

_shit_

the man facing him is clad in a black and white check shirt, the number of open buttons is leaving jaemin feeling a bit more antsy than he would like, but the gathering heat rising to his head as his eyes drop back to the man’s neck is replaced with a burning flavour of disgust as he realises the man questioning him is also wearing black suit pants. _in the middle of summer. IN THIS HEAT._

the same man is behind the till looking hurt as the blue-haired man in front of him clumsily drops the two paper covered discs on the front table, patting himself down, fidgeting at every leather pocket on him until he hears the familiar clatter of coins come from his tartan pants. _two singles, two singles $1.48, $1.48_

“wouldn’t have pinned you to be the joan jett type” inquires the man behind the till as he nosily peers at the singles, who jaemin now realises has incredibly normal and healthy hair, a feat not usually seen in his regular circle of friends. sugar and starch don’t exactly leave your hair in the best condition.

he’s about to answer back, but the words don’t come out. can’t come out.

an ache penetrates the entirety of his bottom jaw.

_fuck, maybe the kid was right about cutting down on the sugar cubes_

the spreading ache is soon replacing itself with smaller, sharp pulses reaching over to the roof of his mouth, etching it’s way to the nerve endings.

“what kind of person isn’t the joan jett type?” jaemin eventually manages to smile back, biting back the urge to run in under the stall’s canopy. _get a grip of yourself,_ he tells himself _, haven’t even been out for three minutes, there’s no way I could sunburn that quick_

the man in front of him gives a light huff of amusement before asking “bag?”, and jaemin’s eyes fleet again to the man’s overly exposed neck before shaking his head and shuffling his own body round to bring his tote bag to the front of himself.

“no no, it’s fine” taking the discs from the man’s hand and placing them in the obnoxiously vibrant hello kitty bag, noticing the bright eye smile he receives, he quips back “got it five stalls down last weekend, her name’s yerim, right?”, and he responds with a nod.

the air pressure seems to double, and jaemin’s no longer sure if it’s the unusually warm atmosphere or the odd prickling sensation that begins to spike across his skin, and it’s wrecking his brain, _has it always been so bright? park jisung, i swear to God if you were right about me needing fillings, fuck, has it always been so painful? he’s new, he must be new, doyoung used to run this stall. sibling? don’t look alike, don’t even know his name, what’s his na-_

“jeno”

_…what the shit?_

“my name’s jeno”

and he stills, eyes blank and staring right through the new owner of the record stall, **_jeno_**.

_stop overthinking, he has no markings_

jaemin wants to step back, wants to think, wants to process what’s just happened, but instead everything is being processed, everything’s happening all at once and he can’t think.

_all telepaths have markings_

“sorry…it’s just, you asked my name…so I tol- “

_human_

_no magic_

_not a telepath_

**_grab his arm_ **

_…wha-_

_**take it, take his arm, can you feel the pulse beneath it? can you smell it? can you tast-** _

“…are you okay?”

“no”

it’s almost a choke trying to get the word out. he’s bent over, head resting on the painted-over tabletop, but he’s pulling on something, pulling someone down. it’s so so so bright. too warm. too much light. he releases the subconscious grip he had on jeno’s arm; attention strictly focused on the paved foundation the stall is set upon, “i’m sorry” jaemin flies his hands over his head, bitten nails digging into the table. _what the hell are you doing?_

he stumbles forward and stands himself up as best he can, seeing jeno making way around the table in the corner of his eye.

“there’s an apothecary witch just down the stre- “

“no” _he’s just trying to help_ “no, thank you”

Jeno shuffles the rubber soles his boots into the paving, standing back to make his way over to the stacked crates in the middle of the stall, but not without glaring at the sweat gathering at jaemin’s forehead,

“it’s no issue…you’re obviously not okay”

“it’s just…anaemia; I’ll…get over it”

“…if you’re sure”

“i’m very sure” jaemin snaps back, before puffing out with a sweat, “thanks for the singles”, he pauses to mentally dust himself off, “and for dealing with…whatever that was”

before jeno can even reply, he watches as jaemin skips over the piles and crates of vinyl without tripping over himself, face riddled with concern as he watches him shout as though nothing had ever happened,

“see you soon, _jeno_!!”

* * *

renjun’s slouched on his cushion, sitting cloaked in the weighted shadows at the back of their stall. veiled from the unbearable afternoon heat and the pace of people in market reaching its peak capacity.

he hears the bustle outside; the rough and tumble of a body sprinting for dear life, he’s almost certain he can hear donghyuck out front, shouting towards the commotion, but perhaps the most unexpected sound is the thud he picks up over the movement of the market, followed by a stampede of solid beats to the ground, _amateur_

but he resists the tempting urge to go out the front, refuses to let his curiosity get the better of him.

he can’t, not without asking donghyuck for a favour first; not without the consequences, Not without a mask

_**“GO BACK TO HELL”** _

_**“DEMON SCUM”** _

_**“GET AWAY, OUT OUT OUT-"** _

Not again

* * *

the passing metal frames are blurred along with the phased faces of onlookers, a rainbow of colours melting into one another as he picks up speed, the air passing over his skin pulling him back; he doesn’t know where he’s going but he’s getting there **_quickly_**

_thief_

_thief_

_**thief** _

the boy’s kicking one foot ahead of the other, pushing himself forward into the flowing river of people.

feet thumping off the solid ground beneath. he’s heaving for a breath, the humid air feeling so bitter against his throat, but he can’t stop now, can’t get caught.

_run_

_run_

**_run_ **

gangly legs catching on the hind leg of a passing centaur, but he pays no mind.

all he can do is _run_

a shout from behind strikes him, a flicker of a flame rising from within the cavity of his chest, and before he can even think about what he’s doing the boy turns to fling himself into the first canopied shop he sees, falling into a freestanding pillar of books.

_ouch_

“...hello…?”

jisung twists himself round from where he’s sprawled on the fallen pile of books, inhaling the aroma of the ancient pages before glancing down at the unbroken mirror he escaped with, the smoke still churning violently beneath the glass, the boy finds the owner of the voice.

“…hi”

but the boy’s attention is drawn to the entrance he ran through seconds ago, whipping his head around to glare at the rise of an _all-too-familiar_ voice heard from outside the store. _it’s not worth the chase, right?_

the man, who jisung assumes owns the shop he just bulldozed through, sits frozen in the corner amongst the surrounding bookcases, seemingly put in a trance by the destruction caused by the lanky boy in front of him.

_don’t care how much it’s worth, no mirror’s worth getting caught over_

swivelling himself back over onto his front, pushing on the leather cased pages below, bracing the stack of elderly books to his left for leverage; ultimately hurling even more of them to the ground _…nice_

“sorry…I’ll just” he says, stumbling over the path of his destructive getaway, “I’ll pick these up”, aimlessly stacking the novels off the ground.

heavy steps are heard over the boy’s clumsy tidy up, he freezes up, eyes sticking themselves to the ground, peering at the growing shadow making it’s way around the wall of casings.

_hurry_

_hurry_

**_hurry_ **

jisung pinches the boiling mirror’s ornate swirling ebony frame off the ground, sliding the pane against the books still lying flat.

abandoning the entity

he makes a run for it

no mind to the other man in the shop

no mind to the mirror he was being chased for

and especially no mind to the gruff man preying on him right outside the store, waiting.

_fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

jisung starts running, **_again_**

* * *

“DEAR GOD, DO WE EVER? GET?? A NORMAL DAY???”

donghyuck huffs out with a red face, not caring for bystanders’ opinions as they pack up for the night, frustration evident across his face as he picks up the hangers knocked down by the sprinting figure from earlier, turning his head to the back of the now darkly obscured stall

“humans are so stupid, renjunnie, I’m thinking of starting a rebellion”

“you are **_not_** starting a rebellion against the humans”

agitation leaking from the devilish boy’s voice, but muffled past the weighted curtains he’s lying behind, reshaping the traumatised wire hangers,

“besides, that guy was anything **_but_ **human, not to say I caught much of a scent but…” he pauses, trying to recall the passing sensation of cold heat he caught from the perpetrator “…but he definitely wasn’t warm-blooded” 

* * *

the breeze creeps over the skin exposed by the tatters in his clothes, before he shuts the door on night time’s grasp, walking further onto the creaking floorboards in the centre of the dingy apartment.

scuffing the rubber soles of his red boots, bringing him to his stiff bed.

he allows himself to be cloaked under the darkness of his humble room, barren par the standing mirror and record player resting on the chest of drawers sitting opposite the outgrown bed, flags, posters and an ever growing collection of pins, all now washed over in darkness.

shrugging the childish bag off his shoulder, he falls into the unforgiving hands of the thin duvet beneath him.

despite the heat of the day subsiding, the fire prickling across his neck returns.

pressure rising again

along with a harsh a grip on the base of his neck, attempting to claw out the pain, failing to grab at the origin of this teething and feverish sensation, jaemin still struggles to remember what happened last Saturday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EHEHEHEHE I WONDER WHAT'S UP JAEMIN HHMMMMMM


	3. A Kind Of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> friendly witches and demons, and their angelic thieves

renjun’s standing, feet rooted into the ground as he fights all the little voices in his head telling him **_to run, run away, run back_**

the grip on the satchel resting on his hip tightens, his claws itching to thorn themselves out from underneath his red skin.

most days at the market pass quickly, tourists and costumers bustling in and out with a steady rhythm, building up into a crescendo during midday, but then again, most days don’t follow the same destructive events of yesterday.

the two supernaturals had decided on passing through the pastry stand for breakfast, giving themselves more time to fix up their own stall properly before being bombarded by their own visitors. There wasn’t much left to fix anyway, the fae had already done slight magic on the bent frames holding up the front of the stall, although with a scowl on his face, he successfully twisted the kinks out from the metal.

but perhaps what renjun is most bewildered by is the newfound burns blistering across the front flap of oxblood skin, swells of charred shadows curling the edges and seams of his trusty bag, burns and swells he clearly remembers **NOT** being there before yesterday.

_…that cold blooded boy_

which has led renjun to his first predicament of the day. donghyuck had already left to buy a gluttonous number of gummies from the local tuck store, _local but far enough that he’ll be gone for twenty minutes at least_. but renjun can’t wait for a mask; something’s wrong and he can’t just wait around for his friend to finish his feast of haribos.

so, now renjun’s planted in the ground, the voids of his eyes burning holes in the lump leather he’s seemingly sacrificing his dignity for, heart racing as he feels the swarming heat of outsiders looking over his complexion and pointed tail, wrapping itself around his lower leg, the closest he’ll ever get to hiding.

“renjun? didn’t expect you to pop by”

the young woman jumps back in behind the wooden frame, held together on a splinter of hope. her stall is the smallest in the entire market, the front table barely a metre and a half long, the frame behind appearing as though it could cave in on the girl any second.

donghyuck always had pride in their stall, sure it was a bit cluttered and more often than not you’d find a sweater living amongst the denim jeans, but it is nothing, NOTHING compared to the absolute hell hole that is kim yerim’s stall.

bags of all shapes, sizes, styles, and materials, all clinging to the meshed metal backboard. protruding from the meshed wall is a small but sturdy shelf, covered in hills of excess material (mainly cotton and leather) and a sewing machine sitting alongside pots of pins, hammers, punching pliers and rivets.

but to those not yet exposed to magic, one might miss that the most noticeable trait of yerim’s trade is the sigils branded into many skins of the leather bags, the lines of teeny jars filled with dirt sitting upon the front slab of wood and the flittering thread of incense, currently nipping at the demon’s nose.

still, the loop of shimmering salt encasing the small stand doesn’t come without it’s discrimination.

“uhm” renjun glares at the salt before attempting to step over the line, only to receive a sharp burning sensation wrapping around his foot.

“OH, SHIT SORRY” yeri’s eyes blow wide open. running behind the weighted backboard to whip out a scruffy besom broom, making her way over to the line halting Renjun in his path, thwacking away the salt with vigour. _a_ _witch’s broom, of course_

“sorry, joohyun’s idea”

“it’s- uh, it’s fine” the scourging pain in his right foot would gladly disagree, “I’ve got… bag issues”, head tipping down to his burnt leather bag.

the young witch’s hands reach to grab the sides of the bag, inspecting it closely with beady eyes before making accusations, “oh my god what have you done to my baby?? you didn’t let hyuck borrow it did you? I’ll gladly kick his ass if he did”

“ **he** didn’t actually”, yerim looks up with disbelief, mouth agape and preparing to challenge that donghyuck had no influence on the destruction of the poor buckled bag, “it’s from yesterday, when- “

“that boy did this?” grazing a finger over the mishappened skin, allowing a pointed nail to follow the swirling shadows imbedded into the red material, “renjunnie this isn’t normal scarring”

“he was cold blooded” renjun stiffens up, dots pulling themselves together in his head.

yerim seems to do the same, “that would make sense; I can’t feel any karma, whatever his intentions were, whatever kind of magic he used…it was all natural”

the mischievous witch peers up from her inspection, making grabby hands for the bag to place it on her back bench. a knowing glint sparking in her gaze as she reaches to pinch the white glowing herb burning on her stand, grabbing renjun’s shoulder as she sifts the smoke from the sage over the demon’s head.

“i’ll have it fixed by lunch…” she promises, tilting her head forward, dark hair hiding her face as she continues, voice low and hushed.

“it seems as though we’ve got a dragon on our hands”

* * *

many of the stalls on the south side of the market are still picking up pieces from the **_disruption_** caused the day before, but of course, the visitors and costumers leave the owners with no rest, expecting everything and anything to be handed to them on a silver plate and _no, karen, that mirror is not for sale, I don’t even know how it got here, what more do yo-_

“just name your price, _boy”_

mark resists the urge to scream at the middle aged woman, who _must_ have some lack comprehension or listening skills, because this has got to be the ninth time he’s said:

“as I’ve said before, _ma’am_ , this piece is not for sale. and once again, this is a **_book_** _store_ , we sell **_books_**. you came in here knowing that this is a **_book_** _store_ , clearly wanting to buy a **_book_** , not a mirror”

the lady gives him a disgust-filled side-eye, looking over her own shoulder, glancing at the books surrounding the two of them before making eye contact with the mirror standing against a messy pile of volumes on witchcraft.

“…i’d like to speak to the manager”

“ ** _ma’am, I literally own this store_** ”, the temptation to just grab a hardback tome off the shelf and knock himself out grows by the second.

 _“fine, human_ ” the woman snaps her head up at him, asserting her dominance with a flick of her bobbed hair and clutching the off-brand bag resting at her waist,

“have it your way, but don’t expect me to let you forget the day you lost such a valuable costumer as myself”

_lord, help me_

_send something, someone, anything, please just get rid of **her**_

a little more than half an hour later…his prayers are answered.

with the stuck up lady now gone, a youthful boy steps through the door, his vibrant aura reverberating through ever crevice and corner between pages and stands, awaking old relics that had lain dormant for generations.

the glow of the boy’s blindingly bright windbreaker shaking up the tired bookshelves and beams, that, and the divine branching of **_three_** pairs of ivory white wings spreading from behind him, adding to a _misplaced_ heavenly aura.

_holy shit_

the boy walks further into the room without a sound, bar the tinny sound of a singer blasting through the six-winged man’s minuscule headphones; mark only now realising the boy tapping his hand against the walkman hanging on his belt loop.

he’s glancing expectantly around the packed shelves, dusting a hand across the top of ancient volumes of grimoires. he stops, twists his wrist to grab a thick skinned hardback from the line of books. the six wings sift themselves into a resting position, and with his rustled feathers sinking down, he opens the grimoire, but his gaze is drawn to something else.

mark tries to follow his line of sight, but it’s too late, the boy’s already found what he was searching for.

the display of wings unfurls before him, spanning across the entire width of the bookstore, cutting mark off from the rest of the room.

the angel dives for the churning glass, swiftly tucking the layers of wings tight to his body.

mark can’t even get a grip on a single feather to stop him; the intruder has already vanished, jumping out the door, taking the swirling mirror with him.

* * *

“green tea!! for uhh- “

“that’ll be for me!!” ring adorned talons peer over the rusting metal of the trailer-turned-portable café, eyes beaming with stars as the patient hands hug the blistering hot mug.

the witch tip toes on the cobbled street, near tripping as she attempts to sip the scolding brew during her juggle to make way towards the wobbling circular table, where her expectant acquaintance sits, fiddling with his half-eaten croissant.

the three story buildings casting a gleaming layer of shade over the alleyway. a refreshing breeze tunnelling past, leading it’s way to the fluorescent north side of the market; renjun having a first class seat to an overly dramatic vodnik haggling donghyuck over what appears to be a musty old shawl that _definitely_ isn’t worth having a tantrum over.

“it took me whole pot of filler” she sips, before setting her mug down, the clatter of porcelain on metal ringing in renjun’s ears, “and the last of my red roll” yerim balks out, finally lifting the repaired satchel over the table.

a smile spreads over the demon’s face, now sporting a more “human” complexion, sliding a hand over where the burns once lay. there’s a slight difference in shade; the filler appearing marginally more on the orange side, but renjun still feels the spreading warmth of gratitude fill his chest “thanks for doing it so quickly”

“it’s no problem, was getting bored anyway” swirling the diffused herbs, caught in a trance as the green hue begins to settle.

“business hasn’t really been the same yanno? at least…not since that pastor came prancing around last week…”

renjun shifts the satchel to rest under the table, pressed between his scuffed sneakers as he nods his head upwards, the conversation leaning into the tight sensation of déjà vu, _again, not again_

“don’t listen to those people- “

“i know; I don’t, but…other people do and I dunno, renjunnie” hesitating before deciding to take another sip, ”it happens every other month and _every_ time people listen to some bozo’s opinion on how I live my own life”

another broad gust sweeps through the wind tunnel, blaring over the silence consuming the two as Renjun begins to pick at the croissant sitting in front of him, distracting himself from the reiterating reminder that the humans only accept those that fit **_their_** ideal, fit **_their_** perception of magic even when they know nothing about the craft themselves.

yerim hums to herself, setting the empty mug down for the last time as she peers behind her shoulder looking amongst the settling pace of people weaving against one another, seeming to notice that the vodnik has **_yet_** to leave the poor fae alone.

“how’s “the magical adventures of lee donghyuck” working out?”, the witch teases, turning back to face the masked demon with a grin as a stale frown twists his face.

“i’m starting to wish seungwan wasn’t so nice” replying as he ponders over the witch that **_actually_** agreed to lend donghyuck one of their coven’s grimoires. It seemed like a decision bound for disaster at first, but seungwan had been adamant that the fairy had good intentions, after all his only argument was that he wanted to protect himself.

but due to donghyuck being donghyuck, the coven of five had collectively cast their _own_ masking spell on certain chunks of the spell book, hiding certain hexes and curses no one other than the witches should know.

that didn’t, however, stop a particularly vexing witch from letting a few harmless jinxes slip under the radar.

 _“harmless”_ renjun thinks to himself, _tell that to kunhang who had to a get a fold up camp chair surgically removed after it **mysteriously** stuck itself to his ass_

the witch replies with a hum of agreement, sparking a lightbulb in renjun’s mind. seungwan; _how is she? Is she okay?_ there had been news of her dischargement, but he had yet to hear anything directly from the coven.

his throat begins to prepare itself to bombard the poor woman with questions. but his mouth is left hanging, eyes drawing themselves behind yerim.

he can smell the rise of adrenaline radiating from the market, clusters of people being pushed by and used for leverage.

he can’t see what’s happening, but he can guess; the eery motion of déjà vu guiding his senses.

 _it’s a chase_ , he assumes, _not unlike yesterday_

he’s standing up from his seat without thinking, yerim gladly seizing the opportunity to snatch the last of his croissant from under his nose, not knowing what’s grabbed his conscience.

_this one’s lighter on their feet_

at a slight glimpse of white feathers hovering over the heads of the street, renjun feels a queasiness consume him.

**_seraph_ **

the zipping layers of wings seem to fly through the crowd, splitting the group of people in two when he hears a second set of feet hitting the ground…followed by heavy wheezing.

_…and a human_

“SToP!” he picks up over the bustle, the human clearly struggling to keep up.

the irking presence of an angel in the demon’s vicinity starts to subside, instead finding the whole ordeal quite entertaining, especially with no visible damage being done to the surrounding stalls and stands.

_can’t say the same for whoever’s chasing after them, just quit already, the angel’s practically gone._

but the human doesn’t stop, the chase continuing along the outer north side of the market and renjun can see donghyuck across the street, standing straight against one of the beams, still and peering around the wall of their stand, _he can hear them too_

what renjun fails to notice however, is the wire hanger in the fairy’s right hand, twisted to form a sturdy point no longer than his own forearm, and a torn page in his left that the fae seems to glance over every five seconds.

by the time he does notice, It’s too late.

the pair keep running and no sooner do they pass over the aforementioned stall, a bolt of forking yellow light rams itself into the blinding object hidden beneath the angel’s grasp.

“SHIT NO”

the angel suddenly drops whatever was in his hands, face succumbing to a pained expression as he clasps his hands close to his chest. He hesitates, looking back at the fallen mirror before running, leaving the stolen item behind as he trips over the cobbled street.

but what grabs renjun’s attention most of all, is the dissolving sound of the second set of steps.

_gone_

_the human’s gone without a trace_

* * *

arms clinging to the base of the toilet, refusing to let go. the cold itching against his skin never felt so warm.

jaemin’s lost count, lost count of how many times he’s had to run into the same scenario:

eat, sleep…then wake up to run to the bathroom and heave

_salmonella, knew i shouldn’t have eaten those cookies…_

but alas! the boy with a face of death drags himself up from the chilling tiles, passing through empty halls and rooms to reach the worn looking chest of drawers, throwing on whatever he can grab.

leaving the leather jacket behind, _still way too fucking hot_

* * *

“where were you?”

the angel freezes, all six wings seizing up; any wishes of flying from the confrontation ahead are thrown out the window.

twisting the brightly painted gate behind himself, stepping with a bounce unto the rubber flooring of the abandoned playground.

six months ago, the council ran out of money to keep this place running, maintenance was too expensive, people became too expensive. chenle and jisung don’t mind though, the less people the better; it’s their own little place now.

“i went to get the mirror”

“…where is it?” the angel can hear a quiet weep of desperation in his tone, regret filling his whole being as he recalls the outcome of his own chase this afternoon.

he looks up, staring up at the boy above him; leaning against the peeling purple bars at the top of the slide, his hands clasped in front showing off the rough scales adorning the points of his knuckles.

“I don’t have it” chenle refrains from sounding too harsh, but the bite is still there, “…I was trying to return it, sungie, we can’t afford to be caught with it- “

“we need it”

“we don’t”

jisung huffs in defeat, pushing himself out through a wide gap between the rusting metal, making way to the worn kiddie swings.

at the sound of the dead chain crying against the steel pole, chenle scuffs along to sit in the swing seat next to the boy with the fiery throat.

_he should be glad we don’t have it_

the angel’s largest set of wings drag across the ground with each passing motion, slowly oscillating himself back and forward, but never enough for his feet to pick up off the rubber floor.

_too expensive, way too expensive_

_fucking hell we coulda got arrested, sungie you idiot_

the swaying beside him stops, hushed sobs and trapped hiccups unwantedly escaping from the boy. chenle can feel the heat radiating from the boy’s face, red with embarrassment… _or the crying, one or the other_

“i don’t want…” his voice, soft and low as always, but a certain warmth has been stripped away, “i _can’t_ let them to take you away from me”

and suddenly his wings fall to the ground, the dead weight stopping him from pushing back on his swing.

_bastards_

since the integration of mystics among men, many _once_ typical practices had been forbidden for the safety of the _entire_ population. witch-hunting in particular had once been treated as a sport, a competition which could win the common man higher social ranks, a plaque, named a saviour for keeping the land _pure,_ a land barren of witchcraft.

but by the time integration had been introduced? Less than a dozen lived to see the day the treaty was signed. today, it’s been said that only five purebred witches remain, counting on their teachings to other mystics to keep the craft alive.

however, there was another sport. Included in a separate treaty that never got signed, the corrupt human-lead government seemed keen on keeping such trivia hidden from the public, was the failed overturn to totally ban the wing trade.

 ** _wing trading,_** it often led to the victim dying from blood loss; wings, especially of chenle’s size and number, needed a copious amount of blood just to remain lax, nevermind _fly._ but should the victim survive, the reward for giving up such decorative pieces was once _immensely generous_.

but now? the trade remains underground and very _hush-hush_ , demand flies high whilst supply remains low. they’ve sought out each corner of the winged mystic population, just to make a dishonest dime.

and now, they’re seeking out chenle ** _…_** _for **six** wings_

**_“six wings or be indebted to these cruel men for as long as you shall live”_ **

sell your identity on a silver platter, or promise them money you don’t have, that you’ll never have, but they will always want it, they will do anything they can to obtain it.

if you don’t give what they were promised, they’ll just take what they can get.

_…jisung had a plan_

_a stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless;_

  * steal something ridiculously overpriced, _doesn’t matter where from, as long as **no one** catches you_
  * hide the precious item, _for two weeks at least as to not raise suspicion_
  * then, when the time is right, arrange to meet the man behind the number on the perilous looking business card which pricks at jisung’s hands like a thorning bristle’s point each time he considers the call.



sell the stolen possession, keep what is rightfully theirs

_but it’s too much, too expensive, too risky_

_too many people saw us both run away_

_too many people know_

_we’ll be caught_

_we’ll be-_

“we’ll be fine, we’ll be okay”, chenle slips his wings through the two taught chains, pushing himself from the rubber seat. standing in front where jisung has stopped swinging, face contorted by a harsh red blush and two fine strokes of tears tracking down from his eyes, eyelashes matted from pure frustration.

the angel kneels in front of him, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at his friend, eyebrows furrowing. as he searches past the hair hiding jisung’s face he finds his glassy eyes. with his pointer finger and thumb he draws across his cheek, reaching forward to smooth the fluttering wisps of dark hair away, cusping jisung’s face.

“we’ve got each other” chenle utters under his breath, gaze passing over the awaiting look that’s warming the younger boy’s face as the angel’s hand has yet to withdraw from his cheek. he can feel the pulse hum under his palm, growing faster with each fleeting second; there’s _something_ hidden between the lines, but chenle’s certain it’s just his imagination.

there’s a shrivelling chill crawling over the blooming hearth of jisung’s chest, a kindle flickering under the looming grey clouds, the flame choking for a breath as it’s stifled by the overwhelming presence of his featherlight touch, eyes flying up over the angel’s face as he envelopes the hand on his cheek with his own in a tight hug.

“it’s getting cold” he speaks up, only for chenle to stay stiff, large wings heaving themselves from behind his back, grazing across the ground to wrap around and encapsulate the pair, chiming against the chain rope as he moves closer.

there’s a rustle from behind one of the bushes shrouded in the darkness of the dying day. between the guarding white feathers, he watches a shadow moving past the iron gates of the dim playground.

 _dried blood_ , jisung’s suffocated by ferrous elements feeding through the air, pulling his hands away from chenle’s wrist and swing.

“chenle, we need to go”

“hmm?”

jisung can’t tell if the person in the shadows is a supernatural or not, the overpowering feeling of magic radiating from the shield of wings surrounding him leaves him unable to sense further out.

_wet dog… **wet dog?** why does it smell like wet dog?_

there’s a snap coming from the figure’s direction, the wings enclosing the angel and dragon jolt backwards, _chenle heard it too_

“please, _lele_ , please, we have to go”

* * *

artificial road light seeps in through the gaps of the apartment’s curtains. filling the far side of the room with dim light, the cascading glow landing amongst donghyuck’s ruffled sheets, the unkempt bed looking as though it had just come off the set of a warzone.

although messy, the space is calm and actually quite pleasing for once; renjun even allows himself to lay lax in their kitchen stool, head falling further back into their bathroom sink as the fairy to his right steps back from washing out the deceivingly dark dye from his scalp.

It takes renjun a few more moments than necessary to realise the petrified look on the golden boy’s face.

“…junnie…you said it was black dye”

“hyuck, why would I dye my already black hair black??”

“YEAH, WELL NOW YOU LOOK LIKE VIOLET BEAUREGARDE”

“SHUT UP, IT’S PANTONE #BB29BB AT MOST”

donghyuck looks up in offense at the now bright purple hair gracing his friend’s hair, “i thought we agreed to sticking with primary colours, injunnie. last i checked; ** _purple_** is **_not_** a primary colour”

donghyuck always had this inconvenient but _tedious_ little trait of his nature; “either the colours must be complimentary or no colour at all”. renjun’s strikingly scarlet skin only seemed to amplify this idea.

_“injunnie, you are not going out wearing **red** on **red** on **red** ”_

though that isn’t to say renjun’s not thankful for _some_ of the fashion disasters he’s been saved from.

 _“but this is what all the human’s wear when they dress up like us; demons equal red! …besides, it’s halloween, hyuckie, not america’s next top model”_ he recalls that he said that with proud smirk plastered on his face, clearly that punch they were drinking _wasn’t_ non-alcoholic.

“Bb tWEnty niNE Bb OOooOOoo iNJUnnie’s fANcy”

“oh shut up~”

“OOoo injUNniE Can’T tAKe a JoOoke~” renjun sticks his tongue out at that one, opening his eyes to see the fairy prancing on his tip toes across to the small kitchen like a strange breed of velociraptor.

renjun makes his own way to sit at the worn settee, it’s a little rough around some seams but it’s comfortable nonetheless, kicking his legs up to fill up all the space, soon met with the fury of lee donghyuck and his mighty bag of egg tarts.

_must have got them earlier at the tuck shop_

“where do you think it’s from” he can barely make out what he’s saying, mouth too full of the tart pastry, crumbs flying out as he speaks.

he’s not sure _but it’s bound to worth something, it wouldn’t be chased after if it weren’t_

the mirror had landed outside their stall once the chase had ceased. unbroken and without an owner to claim it, donghyuck took it upon himself to wrap it in cloth and bring it back to their apartment, and despite renjun’s complaints, it currently lays resting in his own lap.

the curved and swirling ebony growing more captivating and enticing the longer he stares at it.

beside him, donghyuck shifts himself, lifting the demon boy’s legs too far up to slither his way on to the seat, earning a yelp from the stretched boy. digging an arm between himself and the tailed young man, whipping out the chunky tv remote with a triumphant grin “let’s see what kinda fucked up shit this reagan guy’s done now”

renjun huffs out a halfhearted laugh, himself not too keen on all the clowns running around in the white house. not long before the boredom of politics turns his attention to glaring dark glass.

The silver sheet beneath the glass resembles that of a man behind bars, barely visible behind the clouded darkness of what renjun can only assume is diluted ink that had bled into the glass during its creation.

With a finger, he follows the turbulent clouds of the ornate black frame, minute engravings drawing his nail in like a needle to vinyl. Placing the mirror further up his lap, closer to his knees laying across donghyuck, who’s gaze is transfixed on the glowing light of the tv, listening intently to the late news report.

In the corner of his eye, he sees donghyuck turn his head from the screen, "what was that today, injunnie?"

the demon can clearly see the chase play out in the back of his mind, laying the mirror on the couch, he answers "how'd you mean?"

"the guy with _that_ mirror looked an awful lot like those bird men from...yunno, the-place-we-dare-not-speak-of", giving a little ominous impression at the end.

renjun hums, _indulging in donghyuck's curiosity wouldn't hurt anyone_ he assumes.

"a seraph" the demon boy speaks up, voice escaping hurriedly, glancing upwards to be met with a face of confusion, "the boy you're talking about...he was what i can assume is part of the seraphim population"

his explanation clearly isn't working, the fae's face remains unchanged, still baffled by angels on earth.

"yeah okay, but what the bloody hell is a... that thing", remote in hand to turn down the volume of the illuminating television.

_omfg lee donghyuck is **actually** going to listen to something i say_

"i don't know too much, hyuck, i'm not really supposed to... but, they have six wings-" the fairy interrupts, "SAW THAT, c'mon injunnie, gimme the juicy catholicism stuff"

" ** _six wings_** ; two pairs of smaller wings providing the illusion of invisibility and the larger set for flight, y'know you could just go to the library and _read_ about this, right?

"okay so they have wings...what else, why the hell would one of these _divine_ creatures steal this mirror?" renjun stops to think, digging up memories from the past, nipping at what's useful, "i-i don't know, i mean, the **_seraphim_** they... they're at the top of the divine hierarchy... _this_ doesn't make sense, hyuck..."

_a seraph shouldn't even leave those clouds up there, nevermind step foot on the **dirty** grounds of earth..._

_unless... an infidel? no no no he'd be stripped of his wings, all six of 'em_

donghyuck shifts from under renjun's legs, "guess we'll never find out hmm", tiredness evident in his voice as he shuffles along to his mountain of blankets.

_guess we never will_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like my writing's a mess,,, does anyone understand what's happening..?
> 
> ps: hope some of you might be noticing a link between the chapter titles!!


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